


Conversations

by fickle_fics



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jal comes home with some good advice for Cassie.</p><p>Conversations are had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations

Jal’s back for the holidays. Jal - the only person that Cassie can actually deal with seeing from what she’s started thinking of as ‘before’. They spend the night in her dad’s bar, huddled up together with a bottle of wine between them both of them pretending everything’s fine and that neither Chris nor Chelle actually exist because if they talk about them the whole evening will come to a horrible, terrible weeping end and neither off them can do that to the other. It takes Cassie half a bottle and suddenly she’s blurting out her news, interrupting Jal in the middle of an invite to come and stay with her sometime.

“I’m seeing someone.” There’s a moments pause and she carries on. “I’m seeing Mark. Not just seeing him. We’re living together, and I love him I really fucking _love_ him!”

It isn’t as unexpected as Cassie seems to think it is. The whole Sid thing…well that was never going to end well, was it? And perhaps Jal’s just too practical but she never really believed Cassie when she said she’d love him forever. It was _Sid_ after all, he’d done too many things to make Cassie hate him. “Mark?” she questions, because the name isn’t familiar but then why would it be? She knows Cassie doesn’t really see any of the old gang anymore, of course she’d have new friends now. Hopefully ones that don’t treat her quite so badly, only the way she’s talking makes it sound like she _should_ know who she’s talking about.

Cassie dips her head, looks down at her drink for a moment and it isn’t like she’s ashamed of Mark, of course she isn’t. But this is _Jal_ , her best friend and she’s scared about how she’ll react because yeah Mark’s a lot older than her, but if anyone’s going to understand it’s her, isn’t it? “Sid’s dad,” she explains, finally looking up again, jaw set and defiant, because maybe it doesn’t matter what Jal thinks, maybe if she does look at her like she’s lost it she’ll just explain, defend them, because she can do that. It’s _easy_.

“Sid’s dad,” Jal repeats slowly. Mark, Mark Jenkins. She’s never thought of him like that. He never came across as one of those cool relaxed parents you could call by their first name. If she thought about him at all it was as, well Sid’s dad actually. “You’re sleeping with Sid’s dad?” She tries to keep the shock out of her voice, but is fairly sure she doesn’t quite manage it.

“Not exactly,” she admits, her voice small, and she notes the way Jal seems to relax, as if that would make it so much worse. “I love him, Jal. It’s not like Sid. It’s not like jumping from a fucking moving car and hoping for the best. I’m not waiting for it to all come crashing down, but…” she trails off, sniffs heavily, closes her eyes. She doesn’t cry like she used to, because everything’s great, apart from this but how could Jal possibly understand? 

“But what, Cass?” Jal lays her hand over Cassie’s arm. It’s weird, thinking of Sid’s dad like that, with Cassie. But she does seem happier, properly happy, not just pretending like she used to and that can only be a good thing.

“He won’t. He won’t fuck me. It’s been nine fucking _months_ and we haven’t had sex.”

It’s difficult to think of Cassie not having sex for that long, though admittedly that isn’t what she’s said. “You’re not asking me for advice are you? Only I mean you know this isn ‘t really my area of expertise.” Chelle might know what to suggest, only she can’t see Chelle being particularly understanding about who it is Cassie wants to sleep with. She can already imagine the look of disgust on her face.

“I don’t know I just…I needed to tell someone, about Mark I mean, not the other thing. The other thing, that’s my problem, yeah?”

“Have you talked to him?” God she’s giving Cassie advice about how to sleep with _Sid’s dad_! This really isn’t how she saw the night going at all.

“Not really,” she admits. Because it’s so difficult, because he always has a perfectly reasonable reply and because she’s frightened of pushing him too far

“Well y’know maybe you should.” She reaches for the bottle of wine on the table in front of them, tops up Cassie’s glass because it seems like a good idea, the sort of thing that might help things along, and she should not be doing this, she’s sure. Getting Cassie drunk so she can go home and talk to Sid dad’s so he’ll shag her. There are certain things she doesn’t want the mental images of.

“Jal…what do you think about me and Mark?” Cassie asks quietly, nervous of the answer, but she’s taking it okay so far. Only she wants to know, it doesn’t matter of course. Nothing would stop her wanting to be with him, but she’s seen the way people look at them sometimes, like it’s wrong. And she wants to know if one of the few people she cares about in the world thinks the same thing.

Now there’s a question, and she should have seen it coming, and suddenly she wishes they were back talking about the sex thing. “As long as you’re happy, Cass. That’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter who with.”

“You think it’s weird.”

“A bit,” Jal admits, because she could lie, but Cassie isn’t stupid and they’re both almost adults now, and she did ask. “It’s just…I’ve only seen him as Sid’s dad and he was always sort of…angry.”

“He isn’t like that anymore. He’s so kind, and so lovely. I used to show up on his doorstep when…” she can’t say it _when Chris died, when I was lonely_. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He makes me feel safe. It’s like when I woke up in the hospital and you were there, only all the time. I wake up and he’s there and it’s like everything’s going to be okay, you know?”

Jal can only nod, because she doesn’t. She’s never felt like that, but after everything Cassie’s been through she deserves to feel like that whether it’s real or not. 

“I should go,” Cassie says finishing her glass just a little too quickly. “Because you’re right. I should talk to him. So I know why it’s so fucking hard for him to even touch me.” She leans in, kisses Jal on the cheek. “Thanks Jal. I’ll phone you, yeah?”

“Yeah, come on I’ll wait with you for a cab.”

 

Mark glances at the clock as he hears Cassie’s key turning in the lock. “You’re early,” he calls as she closes the door behind her and a couple of seconds later she’s in the living room, bare foot and beaming at him.

“I missed you,” she admits, okay so perhaps it’s not the entire truth but it’s close enough.

“You should see your friends, darling.”

“It’s fine. Jal’s back for a couple of weeks. I’ll see her again.” She steps closer, reaches for his hand. “Come to bed?”

He looks down at their hands. “Cass…”

“You always say that. It’s like it’s your version of no. I hate it, Mark. I fucking _hate_ it. Just say no. Just say you can’t. Just say you don’t want to. Don’t say my fucking name like that. I can’t stand it!”

He blinks up at her more than a little surprised by the sudden outburst. “Cassie, you’re drunk.”

“Only a bit. Jesus, I had half a bottle of wine. Do you have any idea how much I _used_ to drink?” She presses her lips together, aware she’s said too much. She doesn’t talk about _before_ , when she was taking pills most nights. When she’d go into dark upstairs rooms with boys she’d just met for quick, disappointing fucks. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He has no idea who she really is. She’s been pretending to be someone lovely for months and now she’s drunk and he’s turned her down one time too often and now she’s her again, all brittle and angry.

“Why won’t you take me upstairs?” she asks, defeated. “Why won’t you take me to bed? Why is it so difficult for you?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You wouldn’t. I’ve told you a hundred times. You’ve already made me _come_. You, you did that, in like two fucking minutes. Do you know how few people have done that?” And again she’s said too much, because she can’t quite stop herself from talking, because he needs to understand. Something needs to change, or she really isn’t entirely sure what she’ll do. “So just tell me, honestly. What it is? You can tell me anything, you know that, yeah?”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, just sits there holding her hands, staring at them and trying to work out what to say, how to explain it to her. He knows it‘s stupid, he knows it‘s all him and his issues, and what if she‘s wrong? What if he can‘t tell her _anything_? What if she thinks he‘s mad? “You’re too precious,” he says finally. “I look at you and you’re this perfect, delicate little thing.” He looks up, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to taint you.”

She can’t help but laugh at that. He thinks he’ll taint her? _Him_? With the things she’s done?

“I’m already tainted,” she says quietly. “I’m not precious and I’m not delicate and I’m certainly not perfect. I’m fucked up, Mark. I‘m fucked up.” She lets go of one of his hands to wipe at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m not sweet and I’m not innocent. You can’t think of me like that. If you knew what I was like before…”

“I don’t care about any of that,” he says quickly, and he pulls her forward gently, so her legs are pressed against his. 

“But you think I’m something I’m not. You won’t fuck me because you think you’ll _taint_ me. I’ve tainted myself in a hundred different fucking ways. If I told you the half of it you’d want nothing to do with me anymore.”

“I would,” he says. “I mean it, I don’t care. If you want to tell me…you can. I love you, Cass nothing you’ve done would change that, it’s just…you’re so young and sometimes I feel…dirty, like I shouldn’t even be looking at you, let alone touching you.”

“So it’d be okay if you were like twenty, yeah? You have to let it go. I’m sorry I’m only nineteen, and I’m sorry you think I’m something delicate because I’m really, really not. I‘ve drunk whole bottles of vodka neat, straight from the bottle, I‘ve taken pills and overdoses. They locked me up because I was killing myself. I’ve fucked more people than I can remember, because I just wanted to feel like someone cared about me. There is _nothing_ you could do to me that someone hasn‘t done before, only with them it never meant anything. It was just sex, stupid, high meaningless sex because I didn‘t know how else to get people to like me. But I _love_ you, Mark. You make me feel better, you make me not want to starve myself, or cut myself, or do stupid things because I feel so worthless. You make me feel like I matter, but I want you to make me feel like you _want_ me.”

Slipping his arm around her, Mark manoeuvres Cassie into his lap. He knew bits and pieces. Sid occasionally said things, had made tasteless jokes before they’d been together, _Crazy Cassie_ , and he hadn’t liked it much even then. It’s so difficult to hear though, her talking about hurting herself and it doesn’t make it better or easier, because all he really wants to do is make sure she knows how special and wonderful she is, and somehow in his mind sex would only cheapen that.

“You’re precious to me, darling.” he whispers. “Those things you’ve done…” he reaches up, strokes her hair. “I want to make sure you never feel like you need to do them again, but the fact you’ve done them doesn’t change anything I only care about now, and about the future, and about keeping you safe and happy. You’re so beautiful, and so kind and so sweet. I feel bad…some of the things I think when I look at you…they‘re not right. It doesn‘t matter if you‘ve done them before. It doesn‘t matter if you‘ve done them a thousand times. You haven‘t done them with me. And like you said this is different, this is…” he can’t even find the word, because everything sounds so naff, so clichéd and he isn’t that sort of man.

“Important,” she offers, and it is. It’s about so much more than sex, which is lucky considering they aren’t having it. “But you’re allowed to think those things. I _want_ you to think them. I want you to _do_ them, whatever they are.”

“You have no idea.” It makes him feel sick afterwards, when he’s wanked over thoughts of her riding him, right here in his armchair or him bending her over the kitchen table and taking her from behind. She’s worth so much more than that.

“Then tell me. Take me upstairs and tell me, show me.” She leans in, palm against his cheek and kisses him slowly.

“Cass…”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I need another drink,” he says, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the table beside him and pouring a large measure.

“Do you fancy me?”

“Aye, of course I do.”

“Do you _want_ to have sex with me?”

“More than you could imagine.”

“Then do it. Nothing’s going to change things between us. This can only make it better. Make us closer. I’m not precious. You touching me, wanting me doesn’t mean you don’t respect me or whatever you might think. It doesn’t make this any less important or special.. It only makes it _more_ special. Do you get that?”

“I’ll try,” he says, kissing her gently. “I know you’re right it’s just…it’s not that easy, when it comes down to it. Sometimes it’s difficult to be rational.”

She smiles, shifts so her head’s on his shoulder. “Yeah I know what that’s like.” It’s weird - her being the rational one, because she never has been before, but he really has helped her pull herself back together. She remembers exactly how it was though, before, when everything was _wrong_. “I will wait,” she says, as he wraps his arms around her. “Just don’t make me wait forever, yeah?”


End file.
